


Intruder Alert

by midnightecho



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-12-13 16:05:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/826159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightecho/pseuds/midnightecho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal gets home to find someone is in his house... cooking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intruder Alert

**Author's Note:**

> I've had to improvise a little bit with the exact layout of Hannibal's house but I tried to keep it as accurate as possible (with not much help from google images - thanks google)

Before Hannibal even got to the door, he knew something was wrong. Not that anything looked wrong - his front door was securely shut and locked as he had left it, no signs of it being forced open at all, no footprints anywhere along the corridor, no noises coming from--

No, there was a noise and a half. A huge clang rang from within the house, crashing through the silence and exterminating his caution. In a second he was twisting his key in the lock with expert fluidity and discretion, swinging the door wide on its well-oiled hinges so the only sound it emitted was a gentle click when the lock reclosed.

A quick glance around made it clear that nobody was in the therapy room, and as Hannibal took a few brisk steps into the centre of the room confirmed his assumption that nobody was crouched behind the desk or chairs. He raised his eyes to the balcony, swept his analytical gaze over the rows of books in search of shapes, but it was fruitless. The noise had come from the ground floor of the house anyway.

Hannibal strode across the room to the dining room door, which stood slightly ajar. On peering in, he discovered it was empty - though not exactly how he left it. The large table that dominated the centre of the room was polished and bare, as he had left it after his last meal, save for two shining sets of cutlery opposite one another at the closest end of the table. Strange. What kind of person laid the table when they got into someone's house?

A sly smile formed on Hannibal's lips at the answer that came to him - _the good kind._ This intruder could be someone like him, someone who understood his way of thinking, someone who had a bit of imagination. Sure, flanking Will, Hannibal came across many minds like his own, but issues could crop up if it was discovered you were in league with a mass-murderer you were meant to be tracking down and arresting. Tobias Budge had been close enough; maybe this would be someone who was a little less crazy and a little more careful, someone he could actually work with. Maybe this was his chance.

Hannibal stood tall and straightened his suit, smoothing out any creases with his hands, ready to encounter this new acquaintance and determined to give a professional impression. He glided towards the kitchen door, light with new hope.

The doorknob was cool in his palm as he leaned in close, ear to the door. A muffled scraping and clatter emanated from beyond and Hannibal's smile broadened before he eagerly pushed the door wide, a wave of scents hitting him immediately as he looked upon-

_Will._

Well, not exactly what Hannibal was expecting, but to give Will his dues, he understood Hannibal's way of thinking, even if he didn't yet know that it was him behind it. Still, the psychiatrist felt a disappointment at the reveal of his company - which he shook off immediately. He was never truly disappointed to see Will.

Will Graham stood behind the central counter, a plate in each hand piled precariously high with food. When he saw Hannibal in the doorway, he jumped noticeably, almost sending the dishes tumbling to the floor.

By the time he had safely set down the plates, Hannibal's expression was its usual neutrality. "What are you doing here, Will?"

Will clutched restlessly at the fabric of his trousers, apparently undecided on what to do with his hands now they were free. He glanced up at his friend with a fleeting grin, which dissipated at the lack of expression on Dr Lecter's face - which he supposed he should be used to by now. His eyes analysed the floor a moment longer while he pushed his glasses up his nose with an unsteady hand before he raised his eyes again, not quite meeting Hannibal's gaze, as was often his manner.

"I-I just thought," Will stuttered. He visibly inhaled and exhaled, steadying himself, straightening his words in his head. Hannibal stood patiently, perfectly used to patients - and, indeed, friends - needing to take their time. "I just thought that I would do something to let you know how much I appreciate all you've done for me. I'm not sure how I would've gotten through working in the field recently without having you around, and I know it's your job and I haven't necessarily been getting better but I'm pretty sure my condition would've worsened a lot quicker had you not been there." Another pause for breath. "You're always cooking for your friends so I figured it was high time someone did the same for you A-And before you say anything, _technically_ you're not my psychiatrist, you're my friend, so it is perfectly reasonable for me to do this on a non-professional level."

Hannibal couldn't help but smile affectionately at Will's familiar stutters and admire his determination and strength of will when he spoke like this, his certainty that what he was doing would be accepted, so much so that Hannibal was tempted to sit and eat the meal and appreciate it whether it tasted good or not.

But he didn't. Everything had to stay mildly professional with Will, whether he liked it or not.

"How did you get in here, Will?"

Hannibal's friend braced himself against the counter with one hand and pinched the bridge of his nose with the other, screwing his eyes shut tight, as though in pain. Then again, knowing Will, this probably did pain him.

"Did you lose time again?" Hannibal asked, voice softer.

Will sighed, a sigh that made his whole body slump in defeat. His eyes opened slowly and he looked back at Hannibal, jaw clenching frustratedly. After a moment he nodded slowly.

"Well," Hannibal announced, pulling a notebook and pen from his pocket as he strode towards Will and handing it to him before he picked up the plates. "I think we should eat up before it gets cold. What did you make?" he asked, leading through to the dining room.

"Veal picatta with braciola and a caprise salad, with sides of arancini veneziani and fondi di carciofi." His Italian was impressive. "I found the recipe cards on the side - well, I was right in front of them when I came to - and I had to rummage through your fridge and cupboards to find everything but I got there in the end; took a while, actually..."

"It looks wonderful," Hannibal said as he set the plates down in the cutlery frames, because it did. "Almost as good as mine," he added with a smile, and he even go a slight laugh out of Will.

It didn't taste bad, either - and most of it was warm as well, meaning Will's timing with the cooking of the dishes was near perfect. Hannibal couldn't deny; he was impressed. He also made a mental note to check his stocks of organs - he had a feeling he would be running low on some after this escapade of Will's.

The psychiatrist glanced across the table to where Will sat chewing delicately, the notebook cast carelessly beside him with yet another deteriorating clock scrawled across the open page. No, Hannibal told himself, you can go and find some other prey. Yes, Will smelt fabulous and that inflamed brain would cook up nicely, but he was too good an opportunity to dash open so carelessly. If he was honest, he was even fond of him.

They finished their meal with a contented scraping of plates. "Thank you Will, that was delicious."

Will looked a little too happy with that comment - so happy that it simply looked wrong on him. But he managed to suppress it to a small smile as he met Hannibal's gaze and said, "That's what friends are for."


End file.
